Home Comforts
by Crinklybrownleaves
Summary: This story is set sometime after the end of series 4. Lucien comes home to find Jean has a new dressing gown, and maybe a new attitude.
1. Chapter 1

**The idea for this came from hikertrash16's picture of Jean giving Lucien a rather longing look, in S1E4. I've moved it to sometime after series 4, and improved the nightwear. I hope she still likes it!**

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He closed his eyes in relief for a moment. It had been a long day and a difficult case, and there were too many loose ends still for his liking, but he was home now, and home meant Jean. There was an easy comfort now in coming home to her that he had thought he would never feel again.

Though, now he thought about it, he wasn't quite sure where she was. She had served him his reheated dinner, but hadn't stayed while he ate it. A quick kiss on his cheek and she had left him in the kitchen, and now he was in danger of falling asleep on the couch.

Lucien ran his hand over his face and into his hair, making it stand up on end. He pulled off his tie and loosened his collar. He really wanted a glass of whisky.

He may have dozed then for a moment, because he was suddenly aware that Jean was back in the room. Through half opened eyelids he watched her approach, a glass of whisky in one hand and a glass of sherry in the other. She was wearing a new dressing gown. He was sure it had to be new; he had hoped for longer than he would care to admit that she would get rid of the old pink fuzzy one.

She was wearing a long pale blue silky robe that flowed as she moved towards him, and his eyes widened, flitting between the way her hips swayed as she walked, the glass of whisky, and Jean's face, which showed a tentative smile.

Her hair was loose, and the tendrils round her face were damp and curling in a strangely appealing way. How had he spent so long not even noticing her? Just seeing his housekeeper, not his Jean?

He smiled back. "I wondered where you had disappeared to," he said.

"Bath," she replied, and for a moment he fought off the image in his mind of her in the bath, and failed. She chuckled at the look on his face, and sat in the armchair across from him. They each took a mouthful of their drink and swallowed. He noticed her feet were bare, and he couldn't ever remember seeing Jean's toes before. This evening was taking a surprising turn.

"So, the case? Is it finished?" she asked, setting her drink down on the table.

Lucien started to tell her about it, as he swirled the whisky around in his glass. He glanced up and broke off halfway through a sentence.

Jean was giving him the strangest look; she was leaning forward and looking at him in fascination. This was not something he was used to. They loved each other, of course they did, and his mother's ring on her finger was evidence enough of that. But that look on her face?

Lucien would readily enough admit to himself that he was besotted with Jean, but she was always the practical, straightforward one. Yet now she was hanging on his every word and her expression left him in no doubt as to what she was thinking.

She stood up slowly and shimmied around the table towards him. Taking his glass away and putting it next to hers, she slid smoothly onto his lap and put her arm around the back of his neck.

Lucien closed his mouth, which he realised had been hanging open as he watched her, and swallowed hard.

"This is new," he said, with a slight questioning tone in his voice.

Jean wasn't sure if he meant sitting on his lap, or the dressing gown, which he was absentmindedly fingering as it covered her legs. Both were new, as were her intentions.

"Do you like it?" she asked quietly, and there it was again, that look.

"Very much," he replied, "but why...?" His question faded away as she kissed his beard, on the side of his cheek, and as she started to undo his shirt buttons with her free hand.

His hands were fully occupied with the silky feel of soft curves covered by that robe. And now it occurred to him that the robe was all there was; no pyjamas. His mind was racing now. Did she know what she was doing to him? Of course she did - she was no naive girl.

When she reached the third button he covered her hand with his and stopped her. He kissed her fingertips delicately and looked at her seriously.

"I thought..." They might be engaged, but she had never approached him like this, and he had never held her this close.

"Don't think," she replied. "Just...be."

And with that, he let his head fall back slightly against the couch. Jean kissed the skin of his neck and under his jaw, where the edge of his beard tickled her lips and cheek. Her fingers had returned to his chest, sliding under the open edge of his shirt, first seeking out the sparse hair on his chest, then lying flat against his side.

Lucien had one hand on her hip, holding her on his lap, but spreading his fingers out too, exploring. With his other hand he hitched the robe up to her knees and slid his hand underneath. He half expected her to stop him, but her breath hitched and she made the quietest sound in his ear. She moved her legs a little to make room for his fingertips.

They paused for a moment, and Lucien could feel the damp ends of her hair against his neck. Fresh from the bath, she smelled marvellous to him, sweet and scented and very much her. He realised he probably smelled less sweet, after hours of work and still in his work shirt. But Jean didn't seem to mind, and she was nuzzling his neck again.

He lifted her chin then and kissed her properly, his lips silently asking all the questions that were flying around in his head. Was this what she wanted? Had she got tired of waiting till they were married? Was she sure?

He broke away from her and stroked his hand down her cheek. He felt her muscles tighten against his lap.

"Jean? Are you sure?" He had to ask.

"Mmm," she hummed softly. "Very sure."


	2. Chapter 2

"What made you change your mind?" Perhaps it wasn't the best question to ask at that moment, but he wanted to know, and wanted to be sure she wouldn't regret it. He stretched out his arm to turn out the light.

Jean frowned at him. Really? She had just discarded her dressing gown on his bedroom floor, and was now lying with her head on his chest, and he wanted to know why?

"Because I love you. Because I'm tired of waiting. Because I've come to my senses and realised the gossips don't matter." She was sitting up again now, leaning on one hand and using the other to trace a lazy line down his chest. He could just see her pale skin as it seemed to glow in the moonlight.

She had thought he might stop her as her hand strayed lower but he didn't. He seemed happy to let her lead. His eyes fell closed and he gave her free rein to do whatever she wanted. He let his mind float, so he was only feeling, not thinking about anything at all.

He hadn't felt this free, this trusting, with anyone since... actually he couldn't remember when. All he was sure of was that Jean was different, completely different to any other woman he had been with.

Jean, on the other hand, was trying to concentrate on the moment. She wanted to remember this. She kissed him slowly, more deeply than before and lifted his hand till it closed gently over her breast.

With some relief she realised her body still knew what to do. She didn't have to think about what came next, she was responding to his touch anyway. She had plenty of experience, but it had all been with one man, and she had no idea how Lucien might be different, just that he would be.

"Because people will talk whether we do this or not. Because I'm lonely without you." Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

He was touching her now in ways she had never even thought of, and he had turned them both over somehow so he was leaning over her.

She wondered fleetingly where he had learned what he was doing with his fingertips, then surrendered to the moment.

"Because I want you," she murmured, and he was happy to give her whatever she wanted.

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Jean may have expected to sleep well in the aftermath, but in fact they both struggled to sleep. Neither of them were accustomed to sharing a bed anymore, and they seemed to wake each other up every time they moved.

Lucien didn't mind; he rarely slept well anyway, and he was happy just to be near her. He found himself wondering about the future, and couldn't imagine going back to the relationship they had had only yesterday.

Jean quickly found she had to move away a little to sleep at all, but every time she woke she seems to be holding Lucien's hand, or lying against his side. She too wondered what the next day might bring. How were they going to deal with this in daylight?

As dawn broke she got up, and put the robe back on. Wrapping it round herself tightly, she went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and some toast, and brought it back to Lucien's bed. Her bare feet were cold from the hard floors and she pressed them against his legs to warm up. Lucien pretended to look at her severely, but couldn't help smiling. In fact, very little would be able to annoy him this morning.

They shared the toast, not worrying about crumbs in the bed, laughing at themselves doing something previously unthinkable.

Then they lay together contentedly, not speaking much, until the sun was fully up and they could hear Charlie head towards the bathroom.

"What about Charlie's breakfast?" Lucien asked. "Should we be getting up?"

"I left him a note on the kitchen table," she replied. "I said he should help himself to breakfast today."

Lucien raised his eyebrows at her. "Won't he think that's strange?"

"I told him we were having a lie in this morning." Jean said this with a straight face, while Lucien looked appalled.

"What will he think? He'll assume..."

"And he'll be right, won't he?" Jean replied. "I'm not going to lie to him, and I'm not going to spend every night apart from you just to spare his blushes." She looked defiant, though in truth she was a little nervous about his reaction. She didn't want to lose Charlie over this.

"I see," Lucien said slowly. "Well, let's make the most of this lie in then." And he put his arms round her more tightly.

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When they finally got up and dressed, Jean went into the kitchen to make a second breakfast for them both. Secured under the edge of the vase of flowers, Jean's note was visible, and underneath her words Charlie had written his reply.

She read it and smiled, blushing slightly at the knowledge that he had guessed the truth, but relieved she would not have to tell him face to face.

She left the note at Lucien's place where he would see it, and turned back to finish cooking the eggs.

It said, "Congratulations! About time too!" Lucien grinned cheekily at her when he read it. Whatever the rest of Ballarat might think, Charlie was on their side.


End file.
